


Creation Duet

by sparklight



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Creation Myth, Deities, Gen, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3634344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, there was but a single universe, spawned from the death of another.</p><p>Once, from this single reality, came forth the end.</p><p>From the end, came the beginning.</p><p>From both of them, the multiverse.</p><p>But between their beginnings and the beginning of the story that has been told a lot of times, other things happened. Life, like everything, is a story, and once upon a time, Unicron wasn't a scourge upon all realities, merely a necessary function of it. The story, then, is how Unicron turned from one thing, to the other, and how Primus attempted to fix the situation.</p><p>This is that story... or a variation of it, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unicron

**Author's Note:**

> This is written in 2nd person POV both because it wanted (apparently, and I don't even LIKE first or even second person POV that much) to be written that way, and because it avoids gendered pronouns, because outside of stories structured from the cybertronians' point of view, I believe they would use none (though I've used "it" sometimes, which works well for them, here it just wouldn't fit).

You are alone.

Reality swirls around you, layers that make up the universe, and you remember something quieter. But even as the atoms spiral away around you, drawn together by their very existence, you suppose you don't mind. The still nothingness you remember is still curled within you, the only thing that is constant.

What is around you is temporary and while it _is_ , it will soon once again _not_ be. You know this as you know yourself, as you know that the infant stretching of the empty universe around you will end with you, with _quiet nothing_ again. 

You can wait.

That doesn't make the atoms, the elements, the _gasses_ any less annoying. They are loud and bright, piercing through the layers of reality to bind it all together, and you'd rather wish the stillness would be back already. But even as the atoms draw together, dance and collapse and the gasses _accrue_ , it's all dying.

You drift.

You cannot rest, not in this _cacophony_ , but you drift, turning away from the light and wait for it to dim down as you know it will. 

In the not-silence you are stubbornly weaving about you, something _pushes_ at you. You twist away, feeling some vague satisfaction when that motion alone tears a gathering cloud of gasses and dust apart, dispersing it enough the very atoms snuff out, bringing minute silence and stillness inside and around you.

But you are distracted from this by the _pressure_ that simply does not go away. It's as if reality itself is pushing, _pulling_ at you, digging and clawing until you _heave_ with it, confused and angry.

You heave until you feel as if you are being _pulled apart_ , turned outside in---

The light that comes forth sears through _everything_ , shearing from you and you didn't even know you had that _in you_. You are both awed and disgusted that the nothingness deep within could have been origin to _this_.

For a moment you are blinded - the whole _universe_ , every single layer, tangle and thread of it seems to be as well - but then the glittering heat contracts. In the wake of that riot, the atoms _surge_ and you wish you could turn down the noise, dim the light, smother the _presence_. If you thought things were a cacophony before, it's nothing compared to now.

You stare at each other, struck by something you can't tell... and then your companion smiles.

You don't want to feel soothed, but you do. You are inexplicably reminded that all things will end up at their beginning and perhaps this, too, is alright. It's nothing you can't handle, and the nothing within you is a quiet core of promise. So, despite still feeling somewhat put out at this sudden course of events, you reach out, tracing the multihued bright glow of your companion.

The light is warm, and at every pass eddies stir---

You quickly retreat, a dark burning plum staining you where you touched the golden light, but it soon pales out again.

Your companion smiles again, and then turns around in what was surely not meant to be a spin, but turns into one as nascent stars, billowing clouds of hot gasses and disks of _matter_ are all pointed out with growing enthusiasm.

You don't want to be _charmed_ , but you are.

All of those things mean nothing to you, are and will be nothing, but your companion is clearly enchanted, and in a way... that enchants you as well.

You drift.

Sometimes, your bright companion accompany you, sometimes you are alone. But even when you are, the light isn't far away. You could never imagine the universe would be this _noisy and bright_ and you wish for the silence you remember...

Talking of _silence_ , you'd rather _not_ acknowledge that insistent call, but if you do not, you imagine something else will be tried and you can definitely be without _that_. No matter what “that” might be. So you turn towards your companion, about to ask _what is it_ , but you don't need to.

Not when the planet your companion is hovering about is positively _swamped_ with noise and light.

You are stunned.

Staring, you slowly drift closer, only half listening to the excited, _proud_ , rush of words to your side.

This... you scowl. You scowl at something so tiny it can't exactly be seen yet, but it doesn't matter. You know what it is; life. 

Is _this_ what was intended when you got the light ripped out of you? Wasn't the noise of the atoms dancing, the suns slowly blooming into creation and the planets following after _enough_? Now _this_ has happened, and at the intensely white-gold glittering behest of your companion, at that?

Instinctively, you reach out, but you're stopped and you snatch your hand back, trailing sour green and violet.

_Not yet_

The scolding is brief, exasperated and even _fond_. You feel insulted and jerk around and then you _leave_. You don't have to put up with this, and while you _know_ that tiny, brief life on that single planet will end as much as every single star and planet that has come into being so far and any that will come after will as well, and all will turn into dust, _less than dust_ , you don't have to be happy that it's there.

It grates on you, and so you leave.

Your companion can be happy about it wherever you _aren't_.

You drift.

... Perhaps, though, you shouldn't have left, because next you look you are positively deafened and blinded by the sudden riot you can see across the universe.

**What is this!?**

Your roar calls your companion to you as surely as anything less would have, and you take some faint pleasure in the look of annoyance briefly dancing through. It's soon gone, however, replaced with pleasure and happiness that has uncounted hues.

_It is_

What your companion _doesn't_ say, but also doesn't _have to_ as you gaze across the layers, is everything else; beauty and growing; paltry, scrabbling _survival_ ; death and love. Anger, laughter... life.

It _is_ , indeed, and as you stare and feel it all press in, you feel the sudden, jerky lime spearing through you and you _need to stop this_. You wish for silence, for _nothing_ again, and maybe if you can _distract_ your companion...

You reach out, this time ignoring the stinging plum as you touch, and suddenly all that bright attention is on _you_.

Perfect.

You don't stop there, however.

Closer, and the stinging stops. You come together, and you don't feel the burn, if indeed there is one. There is only a lightness, vast and glittering---

Rearing back, it's still too late.

It was too late the moment you _touched_ , but you were too distracted by the exultant look of your companion, by the intricate play of light and colour.

There was only one reality, one _universe_ before you came together.

Now... 

Now there's a vast tapestry of universes, oceans and forevers of them spreading out around you, and they're _so bright_.

_Thank you_

Muted, stunned, _exulting_ , and you shake, all of you shake, because _no_.

**No**!

This was _not_ what you wanted, and anger and frustration makes you reach out for the closest bright center and _crush_. Particles, organic and not, drift about your grip before they, too, are snuffed out. Around you, reality quails in response to this, protests the too-early eradication. 

You don't care.

You also don't care about the wide, wide, dim amber gaze upon you.

All you care about is that that planet is silent and _gone_. You care only about the brief, pleasant flare of warmth destroying - _consuming_ \- all that life and matter brought to you, and even more importantly, the brief, heightened silence after.

This... this is good. You feel better, especially as all that colour, noise and light is still insistent. Loud.

_Why_?

You finally turn to face your companion, hurt and incredulity dripping off in great globs of sticky white light, and you shouldn't, but you grin. Wide and challenging as you flex your hand in the empty space where the planet just was, tearing more atoms into perfect nothing.

**I'm tired of this**

You stare at each other, and your companion reaches out - you back off, smacking the hand away.

_The end will be, that's what you **are** , but you can't just destroy things out of hand! The **balance** \---_

**I have been _patient_ and this cacophony is _unbearable_**

You sneer and look around, easily finding what you're looking for. Turning back to your companion, you catch that golden gaze and slowly, deliberately, you reach. You scratch the surface of the planet, and already reality quakes around your hand, wailing, waiting. It's not as if it can _do anything_ \---

You miss crushing it by a bare shade as you are suddenly barrelled into, your companion's frozen greyish horror turning to blazing white-gold _rage_.

You smash through reality, laughing as matter tear and disperse by your passing, but finally you grab your companion and _heave_.

Surprised gold tumbles away from you, steadying before anything is irrevocably lost. You smirk as that angry, _hurt_ stare is turned on you.

You find you aren't just _tired_ of waiting, you are also _hungry_. Regardless of your actions pushing the balance you know you and your companion are, you don't care. What you care about is the too-long desired silence, and the sudden burn within you. All this life needs to be _quiet_.

Distracted from the wounded glow of your companion, you turn away - only to find your passage blocked. Scowling, you reach anyway, and your hand is smacked away.

_Stop_

A plea as much as a command, and you _laugh_.

Reality trembles around you, and it pleases you. Your companion just stares, however, a stiffly aureolin glare, clearly not at all impressed.

**Move, or I will _move you_**

Despite your impatience, frustration and hunger, you find you don't want to do that. Not _yet_ , anyway. You can, however, be convinced. Your companion's hurt and anger are as pleasing as the happiness, after all.

That gaze narrows further, and the next time you reach, you suddenly have a sword levied at you.

It glows of sun-forges and new planets, teeming with chlorophyll, atoms and cells dancing along the edge, and simple growing _desire_ is in its hilt. It is sharp and full of _life_.

_I will **not** be moved_

You would be impressed by the unbending defense if it didn't _annoy you_ so much. You take a step back, and the sweep of your arm tears through layers of reality in an agonised shriek you gather close to you. The sword that forms feels right. Natural. The blades meet in a shockwave that tears gas clouds and planets asunder as much as they are bolstered and infused with matter.

**Then, dearest sibling, we are at an impasse**

You smirk over the edge of your blade, vibrating with the purest intent of destruction and entropy you can instil in it. Not even that is enough, however, and you have put the wrongness of premature eradication into the hilt, uncreation in the curved angle, and every single twitch of your blade against its twin makes space twist around it.

Pushing, you force your companion to retreat, but you don't stop there. You _attack_.

Your swing is met, and again you laugh.

Every parry, every thrust spears through creation and rips it apart. Not even your companion's essence can ameliorate the effects you _both_ are causing as you hack away at each other, attempting to halt, to stop, to wound; to _destroy_.

Budding galaxies drip off that sun-forge blade, but every reverberating strike of your own hitting it shatter them apart, and you sweep that matter up, hungry and eager to make sure it's _gone_.

You tear through solar systems with your bodies, fling your opponent through galaxies. Swings of your blades cut through _universes_ , leaving shattered remains you are more than pleased to pull to yourself, consume and _annihilate_.

And all the while you are _laughing_ , because you can't be stopped, and your fight is destroying so much of what your companion wishes to _keep_. You are winning.

And yet...

Perhaps your certainty that you are winning and the dark hopelessness of your opponent is what makes you miss the significance of all those little slashes, of the dance you are pulled into, of the changing pattern of creation around you. 

The wounds are small, but, contrary to what you believe, not insignificant. They slowly trickle away at your essence, leaving long trails of lavender behind you that will take time to recuperate.

You don't see the net before it's too late, and then your opponent has stepped around you and smashed the hilt of that sword into your back, an explosive point of light that hurts as much for the _life_ it in as the simple injury done. It throws you forward into the middle of a trap of multiversal proportions.

You flail, tear, _rage_ , but it can't be denied. Every single piece of you is drawn in, gathered close, and crammed into this tiny, tiny, oh-so-very _physical_ prison, and your dispersed essence can't fight free.

You scream, trash and claw, but you don't actually know how to untangle yourself from the rock around you.

Finally, you settle down and take stock.

You have been thoroughly tricked and trounced, but you're _not_ beaten.

All you need to do is to turn this disgusting prison of _matter_ to your advantage.

It will take time, though.

Maybe that's not so bad, however. It will give you the time to consider all the ways to make your companion shudder beneath you, staring at you with that wide, _wounded_ golden gaze as you rip everything around the both of you apart and _consume it_. You will have the silence again, and this will not stop you.

The hunger is distracting, but you will use that as well.

Sooner or later, you will be ready, and when you are...

All that was, is, and will be shall be nothing.

You will have order and the silent nothingness that comes with it.

You are Unicron and you will be _alone_.


	2. Primus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primus' turn in the story, exactly the same thing but simply a shift in point of view.

You are.

You were nestled in a quiet that you didn't know was unsettling before you left it, but now you don't wish to return.

But, those aren't your first thoughts.

No, your first thought is stunned captivation.

At your companion, the one who sheltered you before you _were_ ; the fierce green and violent purple in front of you is beautiful. At the wide, vast, _dizzying_ dance of creation around you. It's warm and bright and full of song, and it resonates with you. You want to see it all, protect it, and to contribute to it.

It takes you quite a few moments to actually react to your companion - and the universe, for that matter - but when you've gathered yourself enough to actually settle on anything but open-wide, apricot-gilded appreciation, you smile.

What else can you do, seeing all this?

Your companion slowly tilts, as if considering, and you can't help but deepen your smile at that. There might be an unsettling, absolute quiet reverberating from the green glow, and despite the fact that you know it's the end of everything when it's time, you still love. Or hope to do so, anyway. 

Finally, your companion drifts closer, reaches out... you tilt into the touch, forcing yourself _not_ to jerk away from the sudden spear of _fuchsia_ lancing through you, or the subsequent trails of puce and dark gold. It doesn't matter much either way, because the touch is withdrawn sooner than you'd like.

Slight pain or not, you wish to know your companion better, and living comes with pain.

You have existed for barely a few thoughts and you already know this simple reality.

Life is, with all the things that comes with it, so too entropy and final death.

Your companion seems as spooked as you are floundering, and you smile again. You also intend to maybe get closer, return the curious exploration, but the glitter of solar systems and gas clouds and _galaxies_ pull your attention away and you turn to observe, and then spin around.

You cannot take in everything in a single turn, so one becomes two and then you pause to share what you're seeing with your companion. The slow, hesitant twitch of a smile you get for your effort is just as rewarding as if you'd have been gifted with a blindingly wide grin. You don't need more than this.

You explore.

How can you _not_ , with all the riot of matter in so many configurations in the universe?

The vast, hot gas clouds where stars are born, the new solar systems where planets are barely more than discs of dust around their young sun, the planets that have become spherical, are cooling... the ones which are starting to shape themselves through meteors, weather and tectonic and volcanic movements.

The comets, the rouge planets, the black holes... So much variation, and you are surprised and delighted at each and every one, wishing only to see more of it, to make sure there _will_ always be more.

Often, you return to your companion, who, you know, cares less for all these things you're seeing - the things you are _helping_ exist - but still listens. If just with half the attention. It doesn't matter; you are still listened to, so you get to share all you see and do, and that's all you desire.

But, as time passes, it's not enough.

The suns are beautiful, the planets stunning, the space between them _captivating_ , but you know there can be more. There is more potential, more _reality_ in the matter of the universe than what _is_ at the moment. You're just not sure how to get the result you're aware should be possible, whatever that result may actually _be_.

For the first time, you don't use your essence to nudge what is right in front of you to slowly come together. No, you need something... else. You study the suns, the planets; the elements the gases are made up of and the atoms and more than that, and slowly ideas start to form.

Your first success is decidedly _simple_ , but what does it matter? It might be tiny, those little organisms, but they produce and consume and proliferate in their environment, and they are _thriving_. You are _thrilled_ because this. 

This is it.

You are so delighted, you don't just _call out_ to your companion, no, you insistently _badger_ until your call is answered. You don't give any chance for a response, so excited are you, and the words just tumble out. It's an accomplishment you weren't even aware was possible to achieve, after all, so of course you're happy. Proud.

You don't miss the slight flash of _displeasure_ (hard to, given the violently acid green that comes along with it), and in a way you can understand. But that doesn't mean you're going to let your companion _end_ what you've worked so hard for when the hand reaches for it, and so soon after it was created. 

_Not yet_

It's _much too soon_ , after all. It has its own cycle, and individual microorganisms of the greater mass are dying even as the two of you hover around the planet with its new life, all of it dying and coming into life all the while. But it's not time for the whole of it to be destroyed by such an unnatural action, so you stop your companion. You are, perhaps, a faint bit hurt your companion retreats before you can either slap that grasping hand away or gently grab it to pull it away, you aren't sure yourself. You miss your companion, after all, so even such a simple, even slightly antagonistic, touch would've been nice.

You understand when your companion leaves, however. You don't understand the longing, or the desire for things to _end_ , but you understand that these are feelings and reactions felt, and accept them. You will try later.

So decided, you turn back to your planet, observe it... but, in the end, you do not interfere further.

You move on to another one instead, start the process anew, slightly differently, to fit this new planet. The joy that blooms up when you succeed blot out the sorrow and frustration of when you fail, because you do.

Many times, in fact.

It hurts, but you learn from it.

You use that knowledge to return to planets you have previously visited and to try your hand at more complicated things. You don't put more complex organisms on planets which have nothing - that is an instant failure, and wouldn't be fair to the organisms themselves. 

You create, you nudge, you observe. You rejoice. The universe is _singing_ with life, and it resonates in an untold number of golden hues, reflecting your own colours. It is _beautiful_ and you---

**What is this**!?

Your companion has finally noticed.

Jerking around, you follow the roar that makes space around you tremble, and you give your companion a particularly arch stare when you arrive.

_It is_

Because _it is_. There is no way to either quantify _or_ qualify the life bursting around you, both such as you have created and not. You were particularly delighted in finding life on planets you have never been to, regardless of its complexity. It suited its surroundings, that's what is important.

So you say the only thing you _can_ say, even if you do it with a bit of dry archness as well. Your companion deserves it, asking such a question. What else _could_ it be? 

Nonetheless, you do wish you could soothe your companion without sacrificing something that's not meant to be sacrificed yet, so your attention is elsewhere until you feel the touch. Surprised, you focus back on your companion, and maybe you don't need to soothe any frustrated feelings here. Not when there is that touch, which has gone from white-sharp burning to warmly glowing.

And this time, your companion doesn't stop, doesn't _leave_.

No, you come _together_ , and if you could stop time and gather this moment _you would_. It's suspended possibility growing within and between you, which turns into barely restrained _reality_ like a glittering storm just waiting to unleash its rain.

And it does.

You can't move, you can't see, you can't _feel_.

You _are_ , the two of you, the stable, balanced center of reality which has gone from _one_ facet to _many_. So many, you don't know how you will touch them all, nudge them into full potential. They are all so _beautiful_!

_Thank you_

You aren't even aware of having spoken, but the words are right, the feelings behind them even more so. You almost miss the response, and you certainly can't act before the act is done.

**No**!

The denial thunders through you, shakes you from your exultant glow and you're frozen as the nearest planet with life on it - you know how far evolution had gotten there, the number of species it had in the past and had now, until _this_ \- is _crushed_. You stare, wide, open, and not understanding. And apparently destroying it isn't enough, because your companion draws the rubble and particles into purple and green energy and you can _feel_ it be eradicated.

Not just destroyed and worn down by entropy; no, utterly, completely wiped from creation, and you quail along with reality as it heaves from the blow.

That wasn't supposed to happen!

_Why_?

It hurts, that single word, but it's only right. The whole of you hurts, a great, pulsing wound the same as the whole of creation now sports. _Why_ would--?

**I'm tired of this**

That rocks you, jangles the wound in sharp lances of off-white and chartreuse because neither of you can just get tired of the _balance_! It is what it is, and things die every moment, _entropy_ happens every moment, both as an aspect of life and of death. How can that not be enough?

_The end will be, that's what you **are** , but you can't just destroy things out of hand! The **balance** \---_

You attempt to make a plea to the parts of your companion that _must_ understand this, that, perhaps, have merely just been shocked into acting out of hurt and frustration. The destruction of that planet and the eradication of its matter is a great, grave wound, but it is only one.

**I have been _patient_ and this cacophony is _unbearable_**

You shake, because you don't understand. How _could_ you understand not enjoying the song of creation? But more than that you don't understand where this desire and fulfilment of that desire to _act_ in this way comes from---

And then your companion meets your gaze. Meets your gaze and then, slowly and deliberately, so deliberately it's like another injury done, reaches for another planet. One that, of course, is also teeming with life.

You will not allow it.

You _act_ , much like your companion did, because you _will not allow_ this _wrongness_ , this _out of turn spurning_ of creation. 

You're not sure what you're feeling as you slam into your companion, but it has filled you with a hot, white-gold _blaze_. You gather it close to yourself, hiding the ragged trails of hurt beneath it as you crash into your companion, sending the two of you spinning through reality.

Too late, you realise this very act, sharp and sudden and unfamiliar to the multiverse, tears at it in a way you wished to stop your companion from doing. Worse, your companion - opponent? - is _laughing_ , and that hurts as well. Flailing for something else, anything to stop both your rampaging fall as matter tears around you and to stop your _companion_ , you are thoroughly surprised when you are grabbed and _tossed_.

You manage to halt your tumble before you have inflicted more damage, and as you steady yourself you sweep out your attention and essence, gently bolstering the space around you. You hope it will be enough, because that smirk aimed at you cuts through you, obliterating your... anger and exposing the hurt again.

Saying nothing, because you're not sure _what_ to say, you still beseech your companion with everything you are.

It's ignored, and your companion turns away, but this time you're _ready_ and it takes barely a thought to put yourself between your companion and the intended target. The grimace you're faced with leaves tiny, maize-bleeding scratches all over you, but you make sure to reach out and smack that grasping hand away from the galaxy reached for.

_Stop_

The word spills out before you can consider it, and it carries all of what you're feeling at the moment; a plea, hurt and confused; an order, fierce and commanding; your love and tears and _anger_.

The response is laughter.

It twists around you in heliotrope and harlequin, claws at space and stars and the emptiness between realities, and you straighten up. Narrow your gaze and _stare_ because while you're hurt, you're even more _frustrated_. And not at all impressed. The laughter has lost its impact.

Then your companion _reaches_ again, and this time when you act, you _react_ and the answer is sharp, singing with life and the intent to _protect it_. You aim your new blade squarely at your companion, rigid, angry and _determined_.

_I will not be moved_

There is a moment given where you think that _maybe_ , your companion has seen reason, will stand down and settle back to let things run their _proper_ course, but in the next second you have to parry a strike that almost makes you lose your sword. Staggering back, you manage to keep ahold on both blade and yourself, though the shock of your companion's weapon, uncreation and intent to destroy as it is, is hard to settle from.

**Then, dearest sibling, we are at an impasse**

You would reply, but your companion - _opponent_ , now - pushes forward, and you are forced to defend yourself.

You swing to meet a thrust. You parry against a strike, and then you step back and feint and all the while you could _cry_. The hot, shimmering gold is gathering within you, wanting to burst out through heaving sobs because every violent motion leaves atoms shrieking into nothingness. You can't stop it; you can barely defend yourself at first, but slowly you learn how to not just _defend_ , but _attack_.

And that racks you in off-white and ecru as well, because the multiverse is shaking around you.

Your opponent draws back a swing, and it nicks a planet, shears through two realities and shatters a galaxy.

You parry, and even as you spread your essence to shield, the motion has torn gas clouds, the shockwave of your weapons meeting has ripped universes asunder. Each and every disrupted atom of matter is then swept up by your opponent, consumed and _eradicated_. This fight, no matter the injuries you cause, is harming creation around you more than either of the two of you. 

You are losing.

And all the while, your opponent is laughing.

You need another approach. Something to _stop_ your opponent, if only briefly.

It's not easy to divide your attention, but you consider what you have at your disposal, anything that might effectively contain your opponent long enough to give you a chance to make up _some_ sort of plan. Quick glances around reality, through layers and universes around you, and an idea forms.

The two of you are energy and light, darkness and emotion. Patterns and actions. What you are not, is _physical_.

That, perhaps, will be your angle.

Gently, slowly, you start to tug at the reality around you, all the while you go for quick, tiny slashes against your opponent. You're both injured, but your opponent knows to guard far better against the crippling blows than the small ones.

Soon, long trails of purple and artichoke is wafting through the realities behind your opponent, and while that rips at reality as well, sending atoms trembling into nothing, the greater effect is somewhat diminished - and, you hope, the end result will be worth the damage caused.

You side-step, retreat, parry and back off and then you have _alignment_.

Surging forward, you don't strike the blade coming at you.

You take the hit so you can step _around_ your opponent, smashing the hilt of your sword into your opponent's back.

Your companion staggers forward, into the center of your carefully arranged trap, and the whole of the multiverse closes in.

You don't turn away even as the roars and thrashing pains you; this was necessary, but it does not mean you don't feel like you have wronged your companion, opponent or not. So you stand vigil, watching as purple and green energies are compressed into a much too small (anything physical, of matter, is too small for either of you, truly) prison.

The planet seethes with darkness and violent purple and green energies, but it holds.

Your companion doesn't know how to get out, as you had hoped.

It will not hold forever, you know that. But hopefully, it'll hold for _long enough_.

As the multiverse settles into its proper position again and the prison still holds your companion, you reach out. You stop before you can touch the surface of the planet, however. Heat, rage and dizzying _wrongness_ emanate from it in waves, but that's not why you don't touch. You're afraid touching will allow your companion some way to break free, or worse, destroy the prison and your companion both.

Because, regardless of the premature and abhorrently _unnatural_ destruction your companion wrecked on reality, the natural balance requires both of you.

You back off, drifting away.

You need... something.

Another angle, because the two of you fighting will tear more asunder than it will protect, and it will thus benefit your _companion_ more than you. You need... passing a planet full of life, you pause and peer down at it. Each little organism pulses with your reflected essence, diluted and individualised.

It's not just _beautiful_ , a soothing sight that stills tears that wishes to fall, it also gives you the beginning of an idea.

Life from you, life to live its own lives, and life to defend against the darkness that wishes to tear everything apart before its time.

You explore, and eventually find what you need.

You reach out, spreading your essence through the planet, and your touch echoes through the multiverse in a single, contained note. Where there was a single, unique planet not mirrored anywhere else, there is now still one. But also many; it's echoed and multiplied in a single uninterrupted curve throughout the whole of creation.

It will be the home, and, most often, the vessel.

Maybe not always, but plenty of times.

You pause, because what you are about to do is similar but yet different to what you did to your companion. You have no idea what will happen, or how it will feel. But fear does not touch you.

You touch the planet again, and then you _dive_. Inside, deeper, smaller and hotter and brighter and it hardens the planet around you, vaporizes elements, metamorphoses and melts and solidifies others again.

You're the core, bright and irrepressible, and the echo of what you have done resonates outwards through the multiverse - you are ready for whatever you companion will do next.

All that is needed, now...

This time, you create as you haven't done before, pulling more deeply from yourself, and when it works, when the energies still _individualise_ , you feel like singing.

You hope this will work, you hope this life will be able to stand against your opponent without causing the same horrifying damage your fight did.

You are Primus, life and light and the chaotic expression of the same, and you will see reality standing for as long as it _should_.


End file.
